


The Cost No Man Can Say

by duh_i_read (duh_i_write)



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Angst, Filling in Cannon Blanks, Friendship, Gen, Giving Ivy a Last Name, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duh_i_write/pseuds/duh_i_read
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I-" Topher groped the air as if he could pull the right words from between them, "I programmed the Actives to like me, a little."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cost No Man Can Say

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the livejournal community winterofrossum. A million thanks to my beta's christinainwonderland and denelian , who polished this down to a fine shine. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.

\----- _  
But you gotta love me  
The cost no man can say  
But you gotta love me_  
\----

Whiskey wasn't crying, because Dolls couldn’t cry. Instead, she whined as she struggled to eat a sucker without touching her stitched-up lip. Topher needed to say something, wanted a distraction from the whimpering next to him and Dominic’s muffled barks somewhere below. He almost asked Whiskey whose dumb idea it was to give her a sucker. He knew it was Dr Saunders'. Right before he rushed up here and-

Topher cut off the thought, curling himself tighter into the one spot in his office not splattered with his coworker’s blood. Any other time, the couch overlooking the atrium had the best view of placid Actives going about their day: reading, eating, painting and doing their yoga by the rock pool. Now, he saw what remained of Dominic's security detail, cleaning up and leaving bloody footprints all over the floor, like the twisted decor in the murder mystery dinners his mom would throw.  
 _  
Alpha in the imprint room with the knife._ A laugh rose at the thought, Whiskey staring at him as he chocked it back. All Topher wanted was himself in the server room under a blanket.

“I should call my mom,” he said, more to himself than to Whiskey, who continued to stare as he spoke. “Have her Fed-Ex the box of my old stuff. I'm sure she'd appreciate that. 'Hi mom, sorry I don't call as much now that I have this super sweet job that technically doesn't exist, but could you go in the basement and find Gizmo? I'm kinda stressed out after seeing everyone I work with carved into lunch meat by an insane Active.'”

Whiskey regarded him with the shallow stare only an active could achieve. “You are sad,” she said.

He didn't respond, just hugged his knees closer, his shirt sticky wet against his chest where the blood hadn't finished drying. "I'm never going to be able to wear this shirt now. This stain is never gonna come out. And my shoes, done for."

Whiskey resumed her pitiful attempts to finish her sucker. "It hurts," she said in a small voice.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he whispered. Whiskey scooted closer, leaning into his side. It felt natural to wrap an arm around her shoulder. Sitting this close, he felt her take a deep breath before speaking again.

"I am not my best. How can I be my best?"

She pulled back to look him in the eye. She didn't look placid with a yearning for perfection in her gaze. How alike he and Whiskey were. Driven. How devastated they were by this failure. His failure.

“I promise, you will be your best, Ok? We'll fix you right up and you'll be back to number one in no time."

She placed one of her hands on the center of his chest and smiled around her sucker. He covered her hand in his, enjoying the warmth emanating from their closed hands. He breathed as she did, measured even breaths and the restless, nervous feelings began to subside.

The twin thud of the doors smacking the walls broke his calm. He jerked his head up to see Dominic stride in, rifle over his shoulder and Alvarez following behind, one hand on her holster, shirt untucked and splattered with blood.

“Whiskey, go with Sophie. Now,” Dominic said.

“Is it time for a treatment?” Whiskey asked.

Alvarez’s smile was strained. “Not yet. First, you need to get changed. Come on.” Dominic glared at him while Whiskey removed herself and took her Handler’s hand. When they left, Topher sighed, mashing his palms over his face.

Dominic's stride beat a hard rhythm on the wooden stairs as he approached. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" Topher wasn’t up for Dominic’s 'bad cop, nonexistent good cop' routine for the second time that day.

"What do you think, Topher? You and Whiskey.”

When Topher looked up, Dominic stood in front of him, arms crossed. Topher tried to sound like he wasn’t confessing. "She was here, I was here. I mean, she just got attacked with a pair of scissors not two hours ago."

"You were touching her." Dominic made it sound like a dirty thing.

Topher ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, on her hand. Last time I checked, a perfectly G-rated place. I didn't even start it, she did."

Dominic stepped up in his personal space, hauling him to his feet by the collar. “Oh, you didn't start it, because you and Whiskey are such buddies.” Dominic tightened his hold. “Funny how you and Alpha were chummy and look how that turned out. Everyone in your staff is dead, except you. Want to tell me why that is?"

Up close, he could see the fine wrinkles in the larger wrinkles on Dominic’s forehead as he scowled. Topher had the urge to tell him if he kept making that face, it would stick. Instead, Topher twisted out of Dominic’s grip. "It wasn’t like I planned any of this! I mean, the chummy parts yes, but the dying parts, no!”

"What are you talking about?" Dominic said, not in the know and looking pissed about it. “What did you do to them?”

"It's common procedure! Mostly," Topher said in his defense. Dominic shoved him into the corner by fistfuls of his shirt.

"What did you do?" Dominic said, quieter this time.

"I-" Topher groped the air as if he could pull the right words from between them, "I programmed the Actives to like me, a little."

_"What?"_

"It used to be standard,” Topher said in a rush. "It's a milder version of the Randolph process, you know, the bonding protocol between handlers and actives; it’s a carryover from when the imprints would take hours. Ask DeWitt, it’s completely legit.”

"You programmed the Dolls to love you?" Dominic said, shaking him for emphasis. “That’s sick.”

He tapped his fingers against Dominic’s forearms as he spoke. "It's not like that! I never said love. Love is far too complex an emotion for the active state. They are just...kind of fond of me. Like they’re fond of their treatments."

Dominic rarely looked so disgusted, even when supervising the clearing away of dead bodies. "There was no reason for the Dolls to like you. Is this why they’re always up here? Sitting on your damn couch and eating the crap you keep in your fridge?"

“Mr. Dominic.” DeWitt looked down at them from the railing. How long she’d been watching, Topher had no idea.

"Ms. DeWitt." Topher was forgotten as DeWitt stepped down to their level, one of the engagement tablets under her arm. The hold on his shirt loosened. “We can’t allow him to continue doing this,” Dominic said.

"At the time, I found nothing amiss, Mr. Dominic. The process fell out of common practice after the New York house had some difficulties with their programmer abusing his privileges."

The rumors he heard, he kept to himself. Dominic no doubt would savor the fine details about the Head of House ordering Lyle chopped into pieces by the same Actives he messed with.

“Ma'am, with all due respect, we can’t allow him to keep-” DeWitt cut him off with a raised hand.

“It is likely that the process saved Topher's life, leaving one less employee I have to replace."

He could tell Dominic thought otherwise.

“But,” DeWitt continued, looking at him now, “Mr Dominic is correct. All Actives from here on will not received the Rose process. I want it removed from all remaining Actives starting with Whiskey.”

“If this is because of the couch thing, I was just comforting her; it was purely a comforting thing.”

“Hardly,” DeWitt said. “We are in need of a physician.”

“Ok. There is an old nurse wedge that will work until the new doctor comes... or not?” he said, because DeWitt shook her head.

“It might be in all of our best interests if Whiskey remains our physician for the duration of her contract,” Dewitt said.

“But-”

“Topher, this is not a request.” She handed him the tablet, where the parameters for Whiskey were listed in bold. The box that listed the end date remained blank.

“Can I say I have serious issues with this?” He ticked them off on his fingers. “The chair is covered in blood, my equipment is shot, and you want to me to imprint Whiskey for an unknown period of time? I’m going to need at least-”

“You have three hours. Or you will wish Alpha had a little less fondness for you,” DeWitt said, raising one eyebrow.

Right. He scrolled down, skimming the parameters. “One physician, well done, hold the coleslaw.” He looked back up at DeWitt. “Is there anyone around who could bring me lunch?”

\-----

Forty five minutes later, as two guys in white scrubbed away bits of his previous assistant from the walls of the imprint room. Topher worked at a drop down console attached to a device with a very boring technical name one of his assistants called the mixer.

Scrolling through a half dozen wedges, he created the framework of Claire Elizabeth Saunders from hunks of past Whiskey imprints and a smidgen of Charles Saunders back up wedge for continuity. Wouldn’t do if new Saunders carried surreal memories of treating herself, asking herself where it hurt while a mirror self looked back with wide, shallow eyes. He paused to imagine how a mind would process that. He saw Whiskey, knife in hand, standing over him with cool empty eyes and shuddered.

He turned to remove a wedge from the slot when DeWitt entered, escorting a women in a blue lab coat.

“Topher, this is your new assistant programmer, Ivy Bayani.”

Ivy. Ivy. Like the rhyme. He studied her. She looked vaguely familiar, cuter and younger then most of the people who worked down in the lab, running blood work, tweaking the equipment and cataloged the new brain scans Rossum sent in every week.

“Ivy, I need half a dozen general physician and pediatrician scans, another half dozen middle class women born in 1976 and a club sandwich.”

She blinked at him for a moment, and then looked at DeWitt.

Maybe she needed clarification. “With turkey bacon,” Topher said.

“Umm... I though I was helping out with the neuro stuff?” she asked.

DeWitt arched her eyebrow. “Your job will be to assist the head programmer in any capacity he sees fit. The kitchen is a floor down, past laundry.” Ivy looked blankly at them both before removing a pad of paper from her coat pocket, scribbled everything down and left.

Topher resumed scrolling thorough the brains. “What about the rest of my staff”

“I assigned you every capable person we had. Ms. Bayani just received her PhD in Neuroscience from MIT. I’m sure you’ll find her adequate.” Reflected in the coroner of the console, he thought he saw DeWitt reach out as if to touch him. His fingers slowed on the keyboard, waiting. No light touch on her shoulder or the back of his neck. When he turned around, she was gone.  
\----

Ivy delivered the wedges and sandwich, bacon extra crispy without him even having to ask. His new assistant disappeared to fill out the million page security contract while he finished up the Saunders imprint. Just as he finished up, Alvarez returned with Whiskey.

“Give it a moment to load.” Whiskey looked better, dressed in a stylized doctors coat and a simple outfit, the dried blood on her face cleaned away and her hair styled. The stitching on her scars made them stand out in stark contrast to her face.

Alvarez stood at her side, still in her bloodstained clothes. “We’ve divided up the remaining Actives into the exercise areas. Boss lady wants them all wiped as soon as you're done.”

“Is Victor still out in the field?” Topher closed the mixer and popped out the wedge.

“Yeah, Richard’s been alerted to keep him out a little longer.”

“Oh ho, I’m sure he’s loving that. I hope Victor spilled glitter all over that neat suit of his.”

Alvarez didn’t respond, brushing the shoulders of Whiskey’s immaculate coat, keeping her from touching her stitches as they walked over to the chair. Topher winced at the louder then normal whirl hum click of his machines.

The chair lit up purple as he untangled the threads from the Rose process, obliterating them from Whiskey's brain one strand at a time. He worried, not about a simple task of point-click-delete, but about a rush job on a long term imprint with the equipment only at 70%.

“It will be all over soon,” he told her. With their covers off, the heat from the drive warmed the room, and he kept wiping drops of sweat from his forehead. Her brain scan showed most of the threads were gone, but some proto-threads still existed throughout her VTA and Cingulate Gyrus. He tapped his lip, weighing his options. It would be easier to pluck these out if he had time to investigate them with a more delicate hand. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to find out what DeWitt would do if he delayed. For now, he’d leave them be.

He took one more look at Whiskey’s brain scan, making note to look over it when he had a free moment. He tapped the keys. “Done!”

DeWitt and Alvarez poked their heads in. “Her imprint?” Alvarez asked.

“Er, no. I’m doing that now. Just giving her brain a break.”

“You alright Whiskey?” He swore Alvarez was not this clingy before.

“Yes,” she whispered. When Alvarez stepped forward to hold her hand, to reassure Whiskey (who was by far, having the worst day ever) and Whiskey smiled back at her handler, he felt the slightest quiver of jealousy. No one asked him if he was Ok. The only person today to offer him any comfort was a walking cucumber.

Alvarez let go of Whiskey's hand with a look from Dewitt, who moved to stand in her place.

The chair flashed. Whiskey's face twisted in agony, her skin pulling along the stitches. She took an audible breath as the chair moved up. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep for so long.”

DeWitt smiled at her. “ How do you feel Dr. Saunders?”

“A bit shaky. I think the medics were a bit heavy handed with the sedatives.” DeWitt held out her hand but Saunders waved it away, rising on her own.

“If you need more time...” DeWitt offered but Dr. Saunders shook her head.

“Someone will need to see to Echo and Victor and the others.”

“There aren’t many others,” Alvarez said. Dr. Saunders shook her head, rising to her feet.“I need to prepare my office for them and the remaining handlers. Ms. Alvarez seems to be injured.”

“The blood’s not mine, it’s-” Alvarez stopped, wincing as if she bit her tongue. If this freaked him out, it had to be doubly freaky for her right now.

“Of course. I’m sorry for your loss,” Saunders said.

“Me too,” Alvarez said. “Ms. DeWitt, I have to go.” Alvarez left in a hurry, shouldering past Dominic on her way out.

“Ma’am, we’ve closed off the showers and moved as many of the bodies as we can out of the building," Dominic said. “All the rest are in the shower room, except Samuelson. My men moved his body to Dr. Saunder's office."

"For how long?" Dominic looked at Whiskey for a touch too long. She repeated herself. "How long are you keeping Mr. Samuelson in my office?"

Topher wished he knew some kind of code, a please-don't-tip-the-Active-off hand gesture. Behind Saunders back, DeWitt tipped her head at Dominic and the two of them had a whole conversation with their eyes, which was apparently all Dominic needed.

"Until we can discreetly take him away, Doctor. Not like the remaining Actives need you," Dominic said. Saunder's face darkened.

"Mr. Dominic,” DeWitt said, “Please escort Dr. Saunders to examine for herself whoever is left and come to my office afterwards to meet a few candidates."

Dominic nodded his head once and tried to lead the new Dr. Saunders out. She scowled as he held open the door. Striding out of the office, she asked without a backwards glance where the Actives were so she could judge for herself if they needed her.

And then there were two. Topher looked down at his shoes, the stains dried to a crust. He focused on the equipment instead, pretending to fiddle with the buttons. Later, he would go down, prod new Dr. Saunders with questions to see how the parameters settled. For now, he had to ask. "Is this a good idea?" The Saunders wedge was warm between his palms. "Really?"

DeWitt skimmed her fingers up the arm of the chair, stopping short of a dark splotch on the plastic. “We have no idea why Alpha attacked Whiskey, nor why she was spared. " She rubbed her thumb around the spot. “Until we do, the best option is to keep her from harm's way the House, ignorant of today’s true events. ”

He didn't respond, flipping the Saunders wedge over and over. Long after DeWitt left, an uneasy feeling in his chest remained. He forced himself to still his hands, to walk out of the stifling imprint room to the dim gray corridor leading to the servers, where he tucked the wedge away with the original imprints. When the safe closed, he leaned his head against wonderfully cool cement wall, closed his eyes.

Searched for that calm Whiskey led him to.


End file.
